My opinion on this one isn't worth fighting over.

There’s a major dispute going on among members of my church. You’ve probably heard people at your church arguing about it, too, as I seem to hear heated discussions everywhere I go: “McCain or Obama?â€

My answer to this question has become, “I’m not telling.†This is a recent development; it occurred after I received a lengthy e-mail from a friend who’s my political opposite. In his e-mail, he questioned the decision-making ability of my presidential pick. My friend’s arguments sounded a lot like the ones I’d heard on CNN from his party’s pundits.

So I started to fire off a reply to his e-mail, telling him how wrong he is. As I typed out my thoughts, I suddenly realized: My arguments sounded a lot like the ones I’d heard on CNN from my party’s pundits.

Learning to hang onto him even without a crisis

I’m tapped out. Today I have nothing to give, nothing to offer. I’m sucked dry and emptied out. Pick your metaphor of mental and physical exhaustion and that’s me.

And yet the demands haven’t stopped. When I feel this way, it actually seems as though they intensify. Each request for help or attention or input feels like the last one I can bear. My nerves are frayed. My head is full. My body reacts to each sound and sensation and voice like a truck has hit me. I respond with complete exasperation—a shout, a look, a sigh. It isn’t pleasant for anyone.

But I know I won’t stay in this empty place. And if you’re in a place like this right now, I want to assure you that you won’t either.

Trying to understand and emulate our mysterious Lord

The church I attended as a brand-new Christian once had a picnic at an elder’s sprawling farm. We engaged in all the usual activities: paintball, games involving eggs on spoons or legs tied together, small children getting overexcited, and people telling jokes about their spouses.

When we were all sufficiently hot and dirty, the men got together and grilled, while the women set out buns and bowls of potato salad. After the meal, the elders and deacons and their wives collected in the basement rec room for their regular meeting.

I was given the job of folding up the tables and chairs and carrying them down to the basement. Coming and going, I inadvertently eavesdropped on the meeting, where a discussion was underway about a member who struggled with alcoholism.

How I’m trying to tame my talk (and why my husband’s thrilled about it)

In my (albeit feeble) defense, I’d just undergone a medical test that required sedation, which may or may not have loosened my tongue. Or maybe it was because I hadn’t eaten in 24 hours and hunger affected my brain.

Whatever the reason, I said something that embarrassed my husband.

We’d stopped at a local restaurant for a burger. I ordered the thickest, beefiest, cheesiest burger on the menu, plus fries, and my husband ordered a veggie burger and a salad.

Before the waiter left the table, I blurted, “That’s what girls order!â€